You scoop a dog’s poop with a thin, terrifyingly fragile plastic bag enough times, you start to associate the face of that accursed hound with that hot, sticky-sweet smell.
(I bet you all want a hot fudge sundae now.)
Of course, she just looks at you with the pity of a creature that doesn’t have the faintest idea why anyone would want to touch her excrement, yet literally leaps at any chance to shove her nose in the fart-pipe of the nearest passing Dachshund.
I don’t know. I just felt like talking about dog poop today.
That and the fact that I got the first Library Edition volume of the Buffy Season 8 comics, collecting the first ten issues and a wealth of extra material in an oversized hardback volume. It’s a thing of beauty that, combined with my obsessive reading of the Walking Dead compendium, makes me think I may be developing a fetish for omnibuses.
I guess it’s been a slow news day.